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by chateauofmyheart



Category: Detroit: Become Human (Video Game)
Genre: Android Gavin Reed, Body Horror, Brainwashing, Cyborgs, Gavin Reed Needs a Hug, Gen, Human Experimentation, Kidnapping, Memory Loss, Mild Gore, Non-Consensual Body Modification, Non-Consensual Drug Use, Police Procedural, Sort Of, hes a cyborg actually, its a winter soldier au with gavin reed, or he will be
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-11-05
Updated: 2018-12-15
Packaged: 2019-08-18 21:29:55
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 5
Words: 10,832
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16525013
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/chateauofmyheart/pseuds/chateauofmyheart
Summary: Detective Gavin Reed goes missing on January 6th, 2039.





	1. in which something is lost

Detective Gavin Reed goes missing on January 6th, 2039.

Tina Chen is the one to find his empty apartment, abandoned except for his cat. She had been the first to notice his absence in the precinct. Gavin always came in early and sipped coffee with her in the break room. They both liked the quiet before the precinct came to life, and Gavin couldn’t sleep in anyways. If not for semi-frequent injuries, he’d never have missed a day of work.

(Say what you want about Gavin Reed, he was one of the hardest working people at the DPD.)

Tina drinks her coffee alone that morning, unease cold in her gut. Her phone sits next to her, silent. Chris Miller, a fellow officer and friend, joins her at the table almost an hour later. He voices the question hovering in the air since Tina had arrived to an unfilled coffee machine in a silent break room.

“Where’s Reed?”

Tina frowns and eyes her dark phone screen. “I don’t know.”

Chris matches her frown, but smooths it out into something more hopeful. He glances at the phone as well. “Have you tried calling him? Maybe he’s just sick.”

“He’s never sick” Tina mutters, but scrolls through her contacts. “‘Sides, he would have called me if he was.”

Gavin doesn’t answer. Not the first time, or the second, or the third. He doesn’t answer Chris’s phone either. They each send a text, in case Gavin is somehow busy and knowing that he isn’t.

“Should we talk to Fowler?” Chris looks to Tina as if she would know better. 

“Ask him what? If Gavin’s not answering us, chances are he won’t answer to him.”

Chris and Tina go to Fowler anyway. The captain is in a foul mood, frustration rolling off him in waves. He dismisses their concerns, though his brow furrows a little deeper. He doesn’t see the big deal. He doesn’t know Gavin like they do. Tina convinces him to let her visit Gavin’s apartment, to ‘check up on him’. As she walks out of the precinct, she knows Gavin’s apartment is no longer a home but a crime scene.

And, well. That’s how it starts.

 

The whole precinct is aware of Detective Reed’s disappearance by lunch break. Tina grits her teeth and ignores mutters of good riddance that dance between desks and over paperwork. Gavin didn’t have many friends in the DPD and it shows. 

When Fowler tells her to give Gavin a day to turn up she wants to scream. The missing persons report is already filled out on her desk. She turns it in anyway.

Chris gives her a sympathetic glance over his sandwich and she wants to shake him. She wants him worried like she is, gut sinking through the floor and cold down her back. But looking at him, staring off into space and finger tapping on the sandwich wrapper, Tina knows he’s just as concerned. But one of them has to be patient and Tina’s never liked waiting.

The next morning Chris comes in early with her, stands next to her at the table and yawns. Tina sips her tea, phone next to her, and waits.

The android detective, Connor, and Lieutenant Anderson get called into Fowler’s office as soon as they arrive. Tina watches with detached interest, mind full of scenarios. Being a police officer gave her a window to the ugly side of humanity, and she wasn’t short on creativity. Her attention is yanked forcefully to the open office door when Anderson starts shouting.

“What?! First you wanna give us all of Reed’s cases and then you want us to find him? You must be out of your goddamn mind!”

Fowler’s voice is measured but no less loud. 

“Apart from you, Reed’s one of our best detectives. The sooner you find him, the less cases you’ll have.”

“But why us, huh? Why isn’t Missing Persons on this?”

“Connor had the fastest processing power here, and hell! He was made to track down people. He’ll find Reed before anyone else.”

The android himself pipes up. “He’s right, Lieutenant. This is my job. I can handle this alongside our other cases.”

“You kidding? You’re gonna do this on top of everything else?”

“I don’t get tired like you do. It won’t be a problem.”

“Fuck, Connor. Fine. But don’t burn yourself out for that douchebag. He’ll turn up and laugh at us for getting all worked up.”

“There’s no need to worry about me, Lieutenant.”

Tina watches Anderson grumble over to his desk with Connor in tow. Thank fuck it’s Connor and not Anderson investigating, she thinks bitterly, or Gavin would never be found.

 

Days pass and hopelessness grips her by the throat. Tina sips coffee alone in the break room and waits. Chris’s glances shift from sympathetic to something like fear, and get ragged at the edges. 

The rumors around the precinct die down, and there’s a hole where Reed’s presence used to be that no one wants to acknowledge. Tina wants to scream again, wants to force them to admit Gavin was a good detective and they miss what he did for them, and realizes she’s already using past tense. As if Gavin were dead.

She bites her tongue. There’s nothing she can do.

The security camera footage shows Gavin walking out of the precinct on January 5th, at 20:53, but he never makes it to the parking lot. In the tiny space of sidewalk where the cameras don’t quite overlap, Gavin had disappeared. There were no suspicious cars and no witnesses. Connor has hit a wall. 

Gavin Reed was simply gone.

 

-

 

Gavin wakes up to darkness. 

Alarmed, he pushes himself off the cold, stone ground. Nausea hits him like a truck and the world tilts lazily to one side.

“Shit, ow- fuck.”

Gavin’s voice is raspy, cracking and too loud in the silence. He tries to look around, but wherever he is is dark as shit. He slowly makes his way onto his hands and knees, head pounding, and blindly crawls forward until he finds a wall. It’s stone cold like the floor and feels amazing against his burning forehead.

He shifts so that his back is resting against the wall, and fuzzily sorts through what he knows.

Facts: He’s in a cold, unlit room of unknown size. There’s no way of telling what’s in the darkness with him, but the only noise he can hear is his own breathing and the distant sounds of piping and moving air. He feels nauseous, throat tight and stomach churning. He feels lightheaded and he’s got a headache.

Conclusion: He was drugged, somehow, and taken to somewhere, presumably a building.

The last thing Gavin remembers is the biting cold as he stepped out of the precinct and wondering if his motorcycle needed gas. He can’t decide if he made it to the parking lot or not, memories of previous nights blurring together.

Panic wells up in his chest. Fuck, he got kidnapped. But why? Who the hell would wanna kidnap him? Was it random or did they target him specifically? What did they drug him with? How? What were they gonna do with him now?

He doesn’t find a answer.

Gavin doesn’t know how long he sits there, staring into the darkness until the shadows start moving. Chill settles into his skin and he realizes he’s only in his shirt and jeans. Why the hell had they taken his jacket and boots? What the fuck?

 

His head snaps up. Footsteps approach, light and even. A woman, or a smaller man. Instantly, Gavin’s alert, tending into a crouch despite how weak his body feels. The footsteps grow nearer, and stop.

A second, then- brightness.

It burns Gavin’s eyes, and he squeezes them shut with a sharp breath. His head pounds again, headache reawakened.

He opens his eyes and looks up.

The first thing he sees once his eyes have adjusted is the room. It’s not a room at all, but a cell, and a small one at that. The stone is smooth off-white and spotted with discolored patches. The bars to his left are presumably iron, rusted slightly where they met the wall. Behind them is a woman.

She’s mixed race, black hair is pulled into a low ponytail at the base of her neck. A lab coat hangs off her skinny frame and she doesn’t seem to be armed, but who knows what’s in her pockets. She radiates power, a chaotic sort of energy. Gavin decides she’s probably an evil scientist.

“Who the fuck are you?” Gavin demands. His voice comes out torn and weak, and he suppresses a wince.

The scientist regards him with a blank curiosity. She looks like an android who hasn’t deviated. Gavin’s fists curl at his sides.

“You can call me Jade. I already know who you are, Gavin Reed.” Her voice is smooth and clear.

“Where am I?” he asks before he can think too hard about how exactly she knew his name.

Her head tilts slightly. “You’re in my lab. I brought you here so I could make a weapon.” 

Something cold settles in the pit of Gavin’s stomach. “A weapon?”

She smiles at him; a small, unsettling thing that looks out of place through the iron bars. “Yes,” she says, moving over to the wall next to the cell door. “But don’t worry, Detective. You won’t die here unless I allow you to.”

That’s extremely worrying, he thinks, and glares at her. “What’d you mea- what the fuck!” 

He cuts himself off as the far wall to his right starts moving, making a low grinding noise echo off the cold stone. Gavin flinches so hard his whole body jerks. The wall keeps moving forward, towards the bars. His stomach drops in recognition, having seen this in movies before.

“No, no fuck no-“ 

The wall comes up against his side, and then Gavin is being pushed towards the bars too. He scrabbles against it, turning so he’s facing the scientist, and presses backwards desperately, but his feet can’t find purchase against the smooth floor. 

He stares up at the scientist- Jade, she’d said- and his heart is pounding so loud he’s sure she can hear it. She watches him impassively, her hand resting on a button attached to the wall outside the cell. He hadn’t seen that before.

In her other hand is a syringe.

Terror clawing at his chest, Gavin shoves back as hard as he can to no avail. His bare toes touch the freezing metal base of the bars and he jerks them back instinctively. He pulls his body as flat as he can against the wall, the iron bar now only an inch from his knees.

The wall stops.

Gavin looks up too late.

The syringe is plunged into his neck, a sharp pain radiating from the needle point outward. He feels the cold rush of liquid into his veins.

She’s drugging him again. He can feel it right away, muscles relaxing and mind dissolving into static. The lights blur for a second and then a ringing fills his head.

And once again Gavin disappears.

 

Gavin wakes up to darkness.

The first thing he becomes aware of is the pain. It’s all encompassing, feels like his head is being split open. It hurts, fuck, it hurts, it hurts-

Distantly, Gavin hears a high-pitched whimper. It takes him longer than it should’ve to recognize his own voice.

He reaches up and gingerly brushes his fingertips against the right side of his head. It burns under his touch but he ignores it and keeps feeling around. His hair’s been buzzed down to his scalp, Gavin realizes. It feels colder now that he’s noticed. And there, behind his ear, is a bumpy line to the back of skull that he recognizes as stitches. Cold grips him by the bones. That scientist had been poking around in his fucking head. Literally.

His hand drops and he leans back against the wall. The pain stopped him from thinking too much, so all Gavin’s aware of is hazy pain and all consuming discomfort. He’s in a hospital gown now, he realizes absently.

Gavin gets hungry at some point. He’s been thirsty since he woke up, and the pain in his head has receded to a dull throb. The darkness is a blanket, heavy and stifling. Only the dryness of his throat and the cramping in his stomach keeps the drowsiness from consuming him.

Footsteps- Jade, he blearily remembers- approach and the lights are daggers directly into his skull. Gavin is aware he’s curling up into a ball, looking absolutely fucking pathetic. He would be crying if he wasn’t so dehydrated. Exhausted terror has his heart racing.

Jade’s voice is soothing next to the grate of stone on stone. He can’t make it out over the ringing in his head. The wall pushes Gavin to the bars again and he tries to fight, he really does, but the pain is paralyzing and the lights are so bright and his body feels like shit. Jade takes a gentle hold of his arm through the bars. Her hands are calloused and dry.

“I know your head hurts, and I am sorry. But it will not be forever. Soon nothing will hurt.”

The needle goes into his arm and Gavin’s last conscious thought is for death.

 

Gavin wakes up to darkness.

The pain in his head is a dulled knife point, his whole body floating on clouds. His thoughts are formless whispers he can’t grasp onto.

Whatever drugs she’s using, they kept him out. He can’t recollect much, can’t remember how he got here or why. Time is an elusive thing, slips through his feeble fingers and falls away. His stomach growls. His throat aches. His bones hurt. He thinks of touching his head, to check for the stitches, but his hands never make it.

Absently, he thinks of the precinct. No one misses him, he knows, except maybe Tina, and possibly Chris. He is a shitty person. There isn’t much to miss. He has no idea why Tina and Chris even talked to him. He thinks maybe they’re better off now that he’s gone. Maybe this whole thing is just karma. Depression claws at his gut and he thinks he would be nauseous if there was anything to throw up.

The lights come on, blinding as ever, but Gavin just keeps his eyes shut. He didn’t even hear footsteps. The wall is so loud as it moves. Gavin thinks weakly of protesting.

A hand, her hand, holds his arm. Her voice is water on dry rock. He feels a needle prick and then nothing.

 

Gavin wakes up to darkness.

It’s empty and so is he. Gavin wonders how long he’s been here. If anyone is looking for him. How many times has he woken up, alone in the dark? What was Jade’s goal, what was she doing to him?

Discomfort aches in his bones. There is nothing but cool air and cold stone. He doesn’t know the last time he’s had water or food. Doesn’t know the last time he’s showered. She must’ve been feeding him, he reasoned, or he would’ve been dead by now.

What else was she doing to his unconscious body? His mind conjured up memories of high school science labs, rats with their skin pinned back and organs on display. He remembers cutting out their eyes.

When the lights come on again he’s grateful from the reprieve of rats with empty sockets staring at him out of the inky shadows.

 

Gavin wakes up to darkness.

There is nothing. He is nothing.

He drifts off.

 

Gavin wakes up to darkness.

He slowly becomes aware of something wrong. His body feels unbalanced in a way it hadn’t before. One side of him feels heavier than the other. 

His arm. His right arm. He can’t feel it.

Panic gets Gavin’s heart pumping and he suddenly feels more awake than he has in- since he got here. He grasps at his right arm. It’s there, he can feel it under his fingertips, but there’s no feeling in it. It’s fucking bizarre. He can’t move it independently; there’s no response, like the nerves were cut. He yanks his useless arm into his lap and rubs his hand along it. He freezes.

The scar on his palm, the one he got from that asshole Caleb in ninth grade, wasn’t there. Gavin desperately felt around the hand and up to his bicep. Nothing. All of his scars were gone.

The skin feels smooth and foreign. Like the plastic under an android’s fake skin. Gavin’s whole body goes cold. He feels up to his shoulder.

It burns, like the stitches in his head. The skin is rough, like a seam, where his collarbone ends. And then smooth, dead, unfeeling plastic.

Bile rises like a tidal wave to the top of his throat, and then Gavin is heaving, leaning over, his left arm supporting his weight. Drool fills his mouth and he spits it onto the cold stone, but there’s nothing in his stomach to throw up.

Eventually he leans back against the wall, throat burning and stomach cramping. His mouth tastes like something dead. There’s a hole in his mind where his arm should be.

When the footsteps approach and the lights turn on, Gavin finds himself throwing his body towards her, grabbing the bars and snarling.

“What did you do to me?! What did you do to my arm?!” There’s the barest flash of surprise on Jade’s face and then the needle plunges into his neck.

His head swims but he can still make out her voice.

“-on’t worry- ... -a minor miscalculation- ... -fixed a-“

 

Gavin wakes up to darkness.

The pain radiating through his body is dull and familiar. He can feel his arm. 

He can feel his arm.

Gavin slowly raises it, blindly tracing patterns in the dark air. His arm- or, it’s not his arm anymore, but a prosthetic. Fake and made of plastic. Nausea rises in his throat again but he swallows it down.

After some careful inspecting and consideration, Gavin decides a few things are different. He can’t feel temperatures with his right arm anymore; he can register the air as warm or cool, can practically guess the degree, but it doesn’t feel the same way it does on his left arm, or his face. No goosebumps from the slight chill clinging to the stone, and no sweat from the earlier nausea. And touch doesn’t feel the same either. It’s more pressure on the skin and reacting to certain textures. Gavin pinches himself as hard as he can and he can feel his fingers, but not the sting of pain that should come with it.

It’s unnatural and uncomfortable and Gavin almost wants to detach the arm from his body because it’s not his arm, it’s a ghost. A replica made of plastic.

There’s a phantom ache in his shoulder, at the rough junction of what he’s assuming to be android tech and real skin. Gavin scratches at it till it bleeds and misses the hurt. All his arm registers is the warm liquid running down to his wrist.

Jade comes. Needle in his arm, his left arm, and he’s gone.

 

Gavin wakes up to darkness. 

His body feels wrong. It’s not a new feeling. He wants to tear his skin off. His arm is still a ghost and he still hears the echoes of dehydration pounding in his head.

Rinse and repeat.

 

Gavin wakes up to darkness.

Rinse and repeat.

 

Gavin wakes up to darkness. 

He can feel little changes in his body, but can’t identify what or where or how or why. He thinks, hopes Jade will get tired of him soon. Everyone else in his life has.

He stops wondering about rescue.

 

Gavin wakes up to darkness.

Rinse and repeat.

 

Gavin wakes up.

It’s not dark anymore. He wonders, in a detached sort of way, why Jade left the lights on. It was a break in the pattern. Maybe he was nearing the end. Of what, he didn’t know.

It takes him longer than it should to realize the lights aren’t on.

It’s a sickening realization, but Gavin’s had too many of those. The nausea simmers in his gut, but doesn’t rise. The lights aren’t on, but he can see.

What did she do to his eyes? Gavin reaches up and hovers his fingers over his eyeballs, rubs at the sensitive skin underneath, and realizes he can see his hands. He looks over to his right arm. The ghost arm isn’t white like android chassis, instead it matches his skin, hair and all. It would look almost real but for the lack of scars Gavin knows should be there. 

The seam on his shoulder is scar tissue, ugly and knotted. It hadn’t healed evenly. Gavin kind of wants to rip the arm off again, but he couldn’t muster the energy if he tried.

His eyes return to their vacant stare at the water stained ceiling and he waits for footsteps.

 

Gavin wakes up.

He remembers the darkness he had grown used to and small spark of gratitude for whatever Jade had done to his eyes burns in his chest. He can’t bring himself to put it out.

Distantly he thinks of the precinct. How long had it been? Were they still looking for him? Had they ever looked for him?

Was Tina feeding his cats? He’d asked her to, back when they were both beat cops and Gavin ended up in back alley fights every other Thursday.

Strange, he’d been more willing to accept death then. Now he just wants to go home. He misses home.

Gavin pulls his arms around his waist and cries the tears he doesn’t have.

 

Gavin wakes up.

Rinse and repeat.

 

Gavin wakes up.

 

Gavin wakes up.

 

Gavin wakes up.

 

Gavin wakes up.

 

He wakes up.

There is nothing. He is nothing. 

He can’t remember his name, and maybe that should scare him. It doesn’t.   
He is nothing.

 

He wakes up.

 

He wakes up.

 

He wakes up.


	2. in which the eyes are watching (faceless in the dark)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> He wakes up. There’s blood spilled now.

He doesn’t wake up, but becomes aware gradually. He is vertical, but not standing, in a white room lined with various machinery and medical tools. He does not recognize them, but he knows how to weaponize them. (Wires and glass and sharp metal are all around him. There are so many possibilities.) He feels straps pressing into his skin, holding him to the flat surface underneath him. A table. 

Something tells him he should not be restrained, that he needs to be ready. For what, he does not know.

He does not know his name. He has no memory of time before this moment, yet he knows he possesses knowledge. He knows how to fight, to hold a gun, to kill. He knows he is not a person, but a weapon. 

There is a strange emptiness. It is the only thing he feels. He does not know where it is, only that it hovers here, like a vacuum, in this room or maybe inside him.

(He dismisses the thought. It doesn’t matter. Weapons don’t feel.)

There is a woman by the computer, slim and unarmed. A box appears in his vision by her head. He reads it.

[ Jade - registered owner  
status : not a threat ]

He is registered to Jade. He is her property. Her weapon.

She approaches him, eyes boring into his. Her face is completely blank. (She would be difficult to neutralize.)

“Your name is Zero now,” she tells him. Her fingertips rest on the side of his face. She does not blink and he can feel her power.

His name is Zero.

“I have a mission for you, a sort of test.” Fingertips brush down to his jaw and drop away. Jade moves back, picking up a tablet from beside the computer. He registers it as another potential weapon. The room is full of them. 

“Richardson. He and I had different visions, back when I worked for Cyberlife. He purposely stopped me from getting my project approved and blocked my promotion multiple times, out of spite. He did whatever he could to get rid of me, and it worked. Now I want you to get rid of him.” Her tone is light but her hands grip the tablet until the knuckles are white.

She watches him. He watches back.

“Do not leave him alive unless you are compromised. Do you understand the mission parameters?”

Zero did. “I am to eliminate the target and avoid being compromised.” (His voice sounds different. Different from what? He dismisses the thought.)

Jade nods. She steps forward and reaches out a hand beside his head, out of his line of sight. Not a threat, he reminds himself. With a sharp click, straps holding his body release him and slither back behind the vertical table. Zero stands up fully and accepts the tablet from Jade. He scans through the information.

[ Richardson, Malcom  
age : 68  
current occupation: retired  
height : 5’10”  
weight : 161 lbs  
analyzed threat level : low ]

Conclusion : an easy target. Richardson’s skull cracks easily under his hands.

 

\- 

 

Connor is frustrated. It’s not a new feeling; he felt it, or a simulated version of it, even before he deviated. He decidedly doesn’t like it.

Hank is a comforting presence in the car beside him, but it is not enough to keep Connor from his thoughts. Heavy metal whispers harshly through the space between them and Hank watches him out of the corner of his eye. Connor keeps his face blank despite his hurricane thoughts.

Detective Reed has been gone 6 months, 3 days, 17 hours, 22 minutes and 10 seconds. A timer has been ticking in the corner of Connor’s vision since he was given the details of the case. 

And Connor has exhausted every resource he can think of. He ran through the security tapes until he saw a tiny glitch between two frames. After a long, careful day of picking apart and piecing together deleted and replaced footage, Connor ends up with a six second clip of Detective Reed collapsing and being pulled into the shadows at the edge of the screen, which he knows to be an alley. Zooming in and pausing at just the right time reveals a blurry, tiny black speck moving towards the detective’s neck right before he collapses. 

Detective Reed had been tranquilized and dragged away. His disappearance had been planned out. By who, Connor still doesn’t know.

Connor even visited the man’s abandoned apartment. It is on the smaller side, in a more urban and less wealthy neighborhood than Hank’s home. It feels empty, like even before Detective Reed’s disappearance he had barely occupied the space. 

Connor notes the books stacked on various surfaces and shelves. Also interesting are the sticky notes everywhere, like the ones on Hank’s bathroom mirror. Most seem to be reminders, like the ones on the refrigerator, but there is a collection on the ground by the worn couch which seem to be case related. Theories and ideas like ‘blunt weapon = bat suspect = son?’ and ‘landlady suspicious check alibi’ scribbled out in pen. Connor finds himself picturing Detective Reed sitting in the couch, working on a case. 

Connor’s reconstruction is strangely domestic and a strange feeling settles in his chest. He isn’t sure what to do with feeling, out of place in the empty apartment and in his memories of Detective Reed. He takes a leaf out of Hank’s book and ignores it.

Evidence of a cat living in the apartment was everywhere, though the cat itself was gone. Connor had overheard Officer Chen mentioning to Officer Miller that the cat was hiding from anyone attempting to take it away.

Still waiting for it’s owner to return, Connor figures.

The chances of Detective Reed still being alive are almost none. The idea leaves an unhappy feeling in his gut, one he can’t put a name to. He hadn’t ever really gotten along with Detective Reed, though the man had mellowed some after the revolution. 

Still, it’s a sad way to go. Not a goodbye, not even a body to bury. Just gone, forever remembered only as one in a long list of names in a police file.

 

Hank pulls into the precinct parking lot and Connor finds himself glancing to a spot nearby, as he does everyday now. It is the spot Detective Reed’s motorcycle had occupied for two months before they finally towed it away. It sits empty now, as if it’s hallowed ground. 

Connor finds Detective Reed’s ghost lingering everywhere now. He wishes, at least, that he could find the body and put the man to rest.

 

They enter the precinct at 9:03 and Captain Fowler is waiting for them.

“There was a murder early this morning. A man named Malcolm Richardson, a former Cyberlife CEO, was found dead in his home.” Captain Fowler debriefs, voice heavy. Connor can see there is more to the story than just a dead man. 

Hank seems to realize this too but, despite his morning coffee, is tired and impatient. “So he’s dead. What’s so special about it that you had to call us in here?” The shadows under the Captain’s eyes grow darker.

“The security camera system was destroyed, but the Tech Department managed to salvage some footage.” He pauses and Hank speaks up.

“Lemme guess, it’s weird.”

“That’s one word for it” Captain Fowler sighs and turns his terminal screen to face them. Connor notices the time stamp in the corner. 1:33 AM.

The audio is gone, but the footage shows a man who Connor identifies as Richardson sitting at a large wooden desk in a dimly lit, opulent, blue living room. He seems to be typing on a laptop terminal. Connor and Hank watch him type for 22.3 seconds before they notice a shadow move in one of the floor-to-ceiling windows. Hank’s body stills beside him. Richardson remains blissfully unaware.

The window shatters silently and Richardson jumps back out of his seat. Connor feels something twist in his stomach area. A imitation of a human reaction. On the screen, a dark figure moves in through the window and approaches the victim with inhuman speed. Hank and Connor watch in grim shock as the figure grabs Richardson by the back of the head and lets the man struggles uselessly for a moment, before smashing his face down onto the glass desk top and stepping back. They see the glass shatter and the wood underneath crack. Richardson goes limp and collapses to the floor. A dark red puddle grows around his body. The figure turns and stares directly at the camera. 

The gaze sends of bolt of shock down Connor’s body, through his wires. The rest of the face is obscured, but the eyes are a vivid, almost glowing, bright green. They are only visible for a few seconds before that inhuman speed carries the figure up to the camera. Up close, Connor can see light skin around those green eyes and the way the light catches dark hair. The broad shoulders shift like they’re drawing back, then there’s a blur and the screen dissolves into static.

Connor can still see those glowing green eyes echoing on the dark screen. Beside him, Hank shifts.

“What the hell? Was that the fucking- Winter Soldier? What kind of bullshit-” Hank waves an agitated hand at the screen and cuts himself off, slumping his shoulders, “What are the theories?”

Connor’s brain is already pulling up information for the reference Hank made. Images of the ‘Winter Soldier’ appear and Connor understands the comparison. The figure onscreen was wearing practically the same outfit, right down to the mask guarding the lower half of his face. The key difference was Richardson’s killer had the sides of their head shaved, and shorter hair on top. Connor remembers how the awkward length had fallen into their face with the movement of their body.

Strange that someone would emulate the appearance of a fictional movie character from over two decades ago.

Captain Fowler shakes his head. “We don’t know anything more than what’s on here. Whoever it was killed Richardson with one hit. Skull crushed like soda can.” The Captain rests his chin on his folded hands and Hank falls back into the chair behind him. The darkness beneath their eyes match now. 

Connor runs through the footage again in his mind. “The killer was most likely male, considering the build. His speed and strength were above the level of most humans, pointing to an android being the suspect. And-“ Connor cuts himself off. The others don’t seem to notice, both deep in thought.

The Captain nods. 

“We’ve been considering that possibility. The amount of strength it would’ve taken to break a man’s face like that, well; you’re right. It’s not human.”

“But those eyes,” Hank interjects. “I’ve never seen an android with eyes like that.”

“Perhaps they were modified.” Connor offers, seeing the eyes flash before his vision again. Hank shrugs.

“So we’re saying a modified android murdered Richardson. A revenge thing, maybe? The guy was Cyberlife’s CEO for a while,” Hank suggests, then backtracks. “Why the Winter Soldier look though? Marvel was before androids’ time.” He glances around. Captain Fowler shakes his head. Connor doesn’t respond. Hank has a point; Connor had been completely unaware of Marvel as an influence on early 21st century culture before now. The internet, however, reveals the widespread media effects.

“Some murderers get obsessed with a certain aesthetic.” Connor offers helpfully. Hank side-eyes him.

“That’s serial killers. You think this guy’s gonna kill more people?” Connor pauses and looks over to Captain Fowler.

“Considering he chose to emulate the Winter Soldier, who was written to have killed hundreds of people, I would assume we may be dealing with someone who plans to kill again.”

Captain Fowler buries his head in his hands. Hank stares out the office window, looking every bit like the hardened police detective he is. Connor sits and waits patiently.

It’s 3 minutes and 42 seconds later before the Captain speaks again. “I’m putting you two on this case. We don’t know what we’re dealing with but there’s a man dead and the possibility of more joining him. You two are my best bet.”

Hank doesn’t even protest.

 

They visit the crime scene even though it’s been over ten hours since the murder. The living room looks exactly the same in person, and it sets a haunted tone to the house. 

The third window to the right is completely shattered, glass covering the floor almost to the far wall. Considering what they saw on the security camera, the killer had smashed the window with something and then climbed through. Connor finds a small greek-style marble statuette laying on its side near the window. Mostly likely used as a battering ram.

The desk is half collapsed, wood cracked right down the middle and splintering. The glass top is shattered like the window and the pieces have mostly slid off onto the floor, where a dark, dried puddle stains the expensive carpet. Richardson’s terminal lays in pieces next to where his body was found. Hank toes it gently.

“Wish this thing still worked so we could know exactly what the fuck he was doing at one in the morning.” This sparks Connor’s curiosity as well. Unfortunately, the terminal is beyond repair and therefore inaccessible, taking its potential leads with it to the grave.

 

Lunch break rolls around and they leave the broken pieces and bloodstains behind in favor of cheap comfort food. Hank looks perturbed and restless and Connor isn’t sure what he’s feeling. It’s not a pretty thing, a nameless amalgamation of something squirming in his gut. This isn’t the first android to murder a human since the revolution, but if Connor’s predictions are right, it is the first android serial killer. Dread and frustration burn through his synthetic bones.

 

They run through the footage until it stops making Connor’s stomach twist, but they can’t find any clues or indicators to the identity of the killer. There is no way to check the model number with the face obscured. Connor can estimate the height, but good portion of androids were built to be around 5’7” and most have changed their hair. Connor can’t identify the eye biocomponents; clearly custom made. They burn green into his own and Connor thinks what he’s feeling can be called nausea.

The glowing eyes follow him home and watch him in the dark. They are so vivid that Connor forgets Detective Reed’s ghost until the next morning, when Hank pulls into the precinct next to that hallowed ground.

Detective Reed has been gone 6 months, 4 days, 16 hours, 56 minutes and 32 seconds. He haunts Connor everywhere and the eyes watch them both.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> i’m posting this before i can overthink it!! heed the updated tags


	3. in which there is a big storm coming

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> jade makes a deal. hopelessness is tangible.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> this is a short chapter of mostly exposition. i promise there will be more action soon!! honey, you’ve got a big storm comin

There is a man in the room. Zero has identified him:

[ real name : Davids, Maxwell  
goes by : Axe  
\- leader of gang “Canaan”  
status : armed, potential threat ]

Davids has a gun inside his leather jacket, inner breast pocket. Jade has not acknowledged the weapon, so it is unknown whether she is aware of it. She shows no visible signs of wariness or fear, so Zero cannot decide whether or not the man should be disarmed. He observes quietly from the side. They are making a deal.

“He has the obedience and efficiency of an android without any laws or coding to restrict him. The perfect weapon.” Zero realizes detachedly that Jade is talking about him.

“Have you forgotten that the androids rebelled? What if he deviates too?” Davids is wary of him. No, he is afraid. He tries to hide it, behind crossed arms and a scowl, but it is easy to read.

“That won’t be an issue. I’ve made sure of it. Keep that mask on him and you will have no problems.” Zero is suddenly aware of the mask on the lower half of his face. It feels heavy now that he knows it’s there, but it’s nothing to worry about. He doesn’t move. His eyes stay on the potential threat in front of.

“You’ve heard about Richardson, correct? That was Zero,” Jade continues. “I ordered him to kill Richardson and he did. The police won’t find anything, not with the lack of evidence. It was a successful mission.”

Davids seems to relax slightly, and looks over to Zero as if to measure him up. The man’s eyes rove up and down, stopping at his face. The look of fear returns and he looks back to Jade. He seems to consider for a moment.

“So you’re saying he’ll kill anyone I tell him to?” Jade nods. “How’d you even- I mean, what did you do to him? You said he’s human?”

“Partially. Technically the term for him is a cyborg, but I prefer cybernetically modified. He’s been upgraded, if you will.” 

“What exactly has been... ‘upgraded’?”

“His brain has implants to control certain functions and allow for the integration of the new technology. His eyes and ears have been replaced with biocomponents that give him upgraded senses. He can see in the dark and as far as any sniper scope. He can hear things from almost a mile away, and remember voices perfectly. His right arm has been replaced completely with a prosthetic, with enhanced strength, reflex, the interfacing abilities of androids. Overall, he’s been reprogrammed to be obedient and self-preserving. If he registers something or someone to be a threat to him and anyone he is ordered to protect, he will neutralize them. He has extensive combat and weapon-handling abilities, as well as a few other useful features. As I said earlier; he is the perfect weapon.”

Davids whistles slightly to himself. “Shit, how’d you get him to agree to that?”

“I didn’t.”

The look of fear is back, but this time aimed at Jade. She radiates power. He should be afraid.

“So what do you say? Would you like to rent him? Any enemies or obstacles you’d like to get rid of but can’t, he is the one who can do it.” Jade watches him, eyes too focused. Her mouth twitches slightly.

Davids thinks for a long moment, wide eyes darting between Zero and Jade. After three minutes, according to Zero’s internal clock, has passed, he finally speaks.

“How much?”

Jade smiles.

 

-

 

Tina doesn’t want to give up hope. She really doesn’t. But Gavin has been gone for over half a year. Everyone knows what that means.

Chris has already given up, she can see it. It hurts- no, it pisses her off. Is she really the only person who still thinks Gavin could be alive? It certainly doesn’t seem like Connor does.

It dawns on her that she may be the only one Gavin has left. Chris has given up and she doesn’t know of any other friends Gavin had. His parents are both dead. Connor, the one working his case, seems to have forgotten that fact, busy with a new one. Tina hasn’t heard much beyond the office chatter and a glance at a headline. An ex-CEO of Cyberlife found dead with no leads or suspects.

It sounds a bit too familiar, and leaves a bad taste in her mouth.

She goes to his apartment and tries to coax his cat out, if it’s even still there. No response. She sets out food and leaves before the memories and unnatural emptiness become too much.

Tina misses Gavin, as sentimental as that is. They’d gone to a bar every Friday since joining the force, with various exceptions like holidays and injuries and whatever else came up. Chris had joined them as they grew closer, even bringing his wife sometimes, though she’d hadn’t really liked the bars or them. 

Tina remembers how Gavin had brushed it off easily, saying “People don’t like me, T. That’s just the way it is.” He had almost convinced her that he didn’t care until she saw him glance at Chris’s wife with something like hurt in his eyes. 

She remembers the occasional karaoke, how Gavin had a steady voice and an infectious confidence. They got drunk and sang classics, Lady Gaga and Britney Spears and Lana Del Rey, until the place closed. One time they had only sung Queen songs all night, and a few patrons actually cried. Whether it was because they were good or bad, Tina still can’t decide.

Gavin was a good friend. He had a lot of issues but she firmly believes he was a good person. An asshole, yes, but good. He’d comforted her when her girlfriend, to be fiancé, left her. He’d helped her find a new girlfriend, and comforted her through that heartbreak too. He hadn’t given her inspirational or motivating speeches, or brought her expensive chocolate and told her everything was alright; that wasn’t his style. Instead he’d bought McNuggets from the nearest McDonald’s and let her scream and cry and eat til she puked, then sat with her in silence, both in nothing but underwear.

God, what is she going to do with without him? Gavin can’t be dead. When they’d both been beat cops, Gavin had promised Tina that he’d die on the job or not at all. Tina doesn’t want to believe he’s wrong. He can’t be wrong.

He probably died alone. They didn’t even have a body. 

Tina thinks about arranging a funeral a couple of times, but the thought of a bunch of people Gavin didn’t know or like, standing around dressed in black, pretending they knew him and would miss him made her want to throw up, or maybe break something. 

Gavin would appreciate being left a mystery, if nothing else. It is this thought alone that comforts her whenever she thinks about him. 

 

-

 

“There are more androids dead every week. An anti-android group calling themselves Canaan are believed responsible for more than half of android killings since Cyberlife released all androids and the government passed legislation declaring androids a new species of sentient life forms.

This week, three androids were found in similar states of dismemberment. Arms and legs were ripped off brutally and hearts to torn out. Authorities believe that the suspects pulled out the biocomponents first, causing the androids to die of thirium loss, then used ropes, tied to the wrists and ankles of the victims, to pull them apart.

This horrific display of brutality shows no signs of stopping. We asked the police what progress had been made on the investigation. The senior detective on the case, Lieutenant Hank Anderson, known for being the youngest lieutenant in Detroit and his outstanding work on the Red Ice busts in the late 2020s, declined to comment. 

Captain Jeffery Fowler tells us that the information they have gathered, if shared, could compromise their investigation. We hope that these awful crimes are stopped and the group known as Canaan be brought to justice. I’m Emily Wright, and we’ll be right back, on-”

Connor looks up from the TV to see Hank holding the remote. The lieutenant looks exhausted, and a scan shows he hasn’t been sleeping right. Hank shuffles off into his room before Connor can say anything, but the look on his face had said that any commentary would be unappreciated.

On his lap, Sumo gives a little whine and nudges Connor’s hand with his large head. Connor thinks vaguely of the wonders of canine empathy, but he is distracted by worry. It’s another feeling he has become familiar with, and it aches more than anything else.

Everything is too much; Canaan, the Winter Soldier (a name for the Richardson murderer which, after Hanks initial declaration, had stuck), Jericho’s growing concern and frustration with the number of dead, the still missing Detective Reed, Hank’s precarious mental health, and Connor’s continued lack of understanding about certain aspects of life. It is all too much. Something has to give.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> also i’m sorry this took a while!! no one wants to hear excuses but i was busy having an ear infection,, i’m back on track now tho !


	4. in which something gives

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> zero fails his mission. no one is okay but they are trying

1:11 AM. The target is standing in the window. He does not seem to be looking at anything. It’s almost too easy.

Zero stands on the roof opposite the building where the target is located, thinking of the inefficiency of those who currently were his commanders. A sniper rifle, just a gun or even a ranged weapon would be more useful. However, his orders were explicit. All he was given was a knife. 

Zero was built for this. He can get creative. This will not be his first failure.

He refocuses on the target. Without the little box in the corner of his vision popping up, he runs through the information.

 

target : a PL600 android  
current location : New Jericho Headquarters, residential wing  
current time : 01:16 AM EST  
orders : remove thirium pump and bring it back to home base; ensure that the target is dead before returning. 

 

The knife is light in his thigh holster. It is only to be used in emergency, and will likely be damaged if used against an android. The blade is not strong or sharp enough to adequately cut through synthetic metal alloy and refined plastic. Zero hovers his hand over it.

He needs to move. He’s been waiting long enough and will be noticed soon enough. The air around his eyes is cool and the movement of the wind runs along his head, brushes through the cropped sides and pushes back the longer strands at the top back. His feet hit the ground silently.

The safest entry point is a window on the bottom level, near a side door entrance. The cameras don’t even move. Zero slips in easily.

Moving through the dark hallways, he knows most of the rooms are empty. The few that are occupied, he’d seen while scouting earlier, have the occupants in the middle of a routine shut down. An imitation of human sleep. Apparently they wanted to be human, as if humans were the only things alive.

Zero shakes away the useless and strangely bitter thoughts. The stairwell cameras are disabled with a few cut wires and he emerges on the sixth and final level of the building. The target’s room is down the hall to the left.

The door is unlocked. The target remains standing by the window Zero had seen him in earlier. 

Zero moves silently.

He grabs the target by the back of the neck and slams his face forward into the window frame. The same movement he used on the previous target, but with less force. This is only to disorient. The target makes a yelping noise and momentum sends the android stumbling backwards. Zero spins him around and shoves him into the wall.

Blue eyes stare into his, wide with terror and panic. Zero can’t feel anything, he’s a weapon not a person, but it just seems so wrong and- Without thinking, Zero moves his hand up to block it. He grabs the target’s face and for a second, everything goes black.

Zero blinks. The target is frozen under his hands, eyes staring unseeingly into the air someplace above his head. There is a buzzing in the back of Zero’s skull, like an empty space in a TV broadcast. The notion that something is missing scratches at the back of his skull. Something should’ve happened to him. But what?

Doesn’t matter.

The target is still unmoving, and Zero takes the opportunity to pull out the knife with the hand not on the target’s face. Pinning the target’s head to the wall, though he hardly needs to. The knife cuts through the fabric of the target’s shirt neatly and the thirium pump is exposed, but Zero doesn’t get much farther than that.

Loud and frantic footsteps echo down the corridor and he turns to see an android appear in the doorway. A WR400; her eyes are wide but her fists are clenched, and she moves towards him like a charging bull.

Zero whips his knife around and catches her in the stomach. She grunts and falls backwards, knife now broken on the ground between them. Dark blue bleeds through her shirt, but slow enough that Zero knows he didn’t do any real damage. The android is on her feet again. She hesitates, eyes focused behind Zero. The target.

He’d released his hold on the target as he’d intercepted her attack. The target hasn’t moved from against the wall, head bowed and tremors running through his body. In the second Zero takes to look at him, the other android lunges again, an angry noise rumbling from her throat. Zero ducks and moves to the left, back partially facing the window.

He can hear more footsteps approaching, too many to count. The other android has put herself between him and the target, and looks ready to attack him once again. This did not go as planned.

Zero does what his protocol tells him to do. Self-preserves. 

He breaks through the window with his body and rolls when he hits the ground. He runs, dodging cameras and disappears into the narrow city streets.

Failure and those terrified eyes follow him home.

 

-

 

Josh waits until North has stopped moving away from him before pressing the welding iron to her wound. She holds herself rigidly, clearly uncomfortable. Josh wishes he could help, but wishes never healed trauma and North wouldn’t let him fight her battles anyway. 

“All right, all done” he tells her and steps back, pulling the red hot metal from her stomach. Instantly she relaxes, the proximity equating to protection in her mind. The synthetic skin flows back over the white chassis, no longer leaking thirium. She pulls her jacket over her, bare underneath but for a bra.

Her fists are still clenched. She’s still- upset? mad? frustrated?- about earlier. The attack.

It’s been four hours since someone snuck in and attacked Simon. Josh is still reeling from it, and he wasn’t even there. Luckily, he can compartmentalize. Help North and Simon first, panic later.

Simon was physically unharmed, androids being unsusceptible to bruises. Nothing but a torn shirt. Mentally, however- well, Markus was doing his best.

 

Simon had been in shock when they found him, North crouched next to him and attempting to get him to look at her. She hadn’t mentioned that she’d gotten stabbed until Simon had been checked by a medic and led off to Markus’s room. Josh remembers how he trembled.

Now, at five in the morning, he’s aware enough to talk. They all gather, Josh and North and Markus and Lucy and a few others, around the bed- Markus’s bed- to listen. Simon won’t look up from the sheets. His voice is soft and a little unsteady.

“I, uh, didn’t notice them until my forehead was against the wall. I- it caught me off-guard, I- couldn’t react. Then they grabbed me, by- by the face and-.” Simon takes a deep breath, pauses and squints slightly. “They- we interfaced.”

Josh sees Markus shift out of the corner of his eye and feels North draw back next to him. He forces himself to focus on Simon. Listen now, panic later.

“Except it was- different? It wasn’t the same as, uh, normal interfacing. I didn’t feel anything reach them. Like a one-sided connection. They got nothing from me but-“ another pause “I could feel them. They were...” Simon trails off. Anxious anticipation squirms through Josh.

Simon seems to fade away for a moment. Josh exchanges glances with the others. Just as it feels someone’s going to say something, Simon speaks again. He sounds more sure of himself now than he’d been all morning.

“Afraid. And confused. It was overwhelming. They were so scared, I don’t know how- they acted like they didn’t realize. Like they couldn’t actually feel it at all. They touched me and it felt like a child lost in the dark. I couldn’t see anything, couldn’t hear anything. It wasn’t until Markus-“ Simon looks up suddenly, gazing at Markus with something warm and hesitant.

Simon and Markus stare at each other quietly for a moment and the rest watch them, and then Markus murmurs gently, 

“You should rest. I’ll stay with you. We can talk about this later.”

Everyone can hear the silent dismissal and slowly begin moving to the door. Josh looks over to North. She stands, strong and silent, arms crossed over her mostly bare chest. She watches Markus sit down next to Simon, then looks over to Josh. 

They turn and leave together. There is too much unsaid, too many questions unanswered, but for now that would have to be okay.

 

-

 

Tina doesn’t ever make funeral plans. At some point the hurt stops being a sharp knife point and fades into an ache that throbs more on certain days, like Fridays and holidays and particularly empty mornings.

He’s really gone.

The thought doesn’t hurt as much as it should and that makes it worse. Tina has her coffee and her job and Chris, though sometimes it seems he’s forgotten Gavin already and she finds herself hating him then. How dare he forget their friend? But she forgives him, because maybe he’s right.

Maybe things would be better if she let Gavin go. Maybe things will be better if she moves on.

That thought hurts, but it’s the same dull ache as missing him and she almost misses the sharper pain. Now it feels like her heart is wearing a heavy coat, every sensation dulled and blunted by thick fabric. Her heart has learned, it seems, from the cold winters and their bitter winds.

So Tina drinks her coffee alone and talks to Chris like there’s not a part of the conversation missing and goes to bars alone and talks to women like there’s not a wingman missing and convinces herself it’s okay.

It’s not. Maybe it can be.

 

She wonders what Gavin would’ve wanted her to do, and then realizes it doesn’t matter because he’s gone and she’s still here. Her life is her own. When did she stop remembering that?

Gavin is haunting her, it seems. A funeral is out of the question, so Tina goes to his apartment. The landlady hasn’t sold it yet. It sits between two apartments like it’s meant to be there, but it’s not, not really. It’s a grave pretending to be a home.

Tina goes there and puts out food for the vanished cat and tells the empty space goodbye. The number plate by the door is the tombstone. Gavin Reed doesn’t even get a name. She presses her fingers to the familiar metal, feeling the dent along the bottom where Gavin had knocked it one time with a half empty beer bottle after a karaoke night. The bottle had shattered in his hands. If she squints, Tina can still see the faded bloodstains on the door mat.

 

There’s nothing magical about it. This isn’t a movie, and Tina isn’t suddenly healed from her grief and free to move on. She walks away and it doesn’t feel like anything’s changed.

But the next day, drinking coffee alone in the break room, she feels the ache a little less deeply. It’s still not okay but maybe it will be.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> imma be real this was supposed to be a lot angstier than it is. just wanted tina to be Not Quite As Sad As Before. she deserves it


	5. in which there is direction

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> they all deal with the failed attack

“Thank you for meeting with us, Connor. New Jericho appreciates your help.”

Connor smiles, friendliness as genuine as he can make it. “Of course, Markus.”

Connor watches Markus and his companions leave, mind racing. Hank hums low in his throat behind him.

“The Winter Soldier strikes again, huh?”

“It seems that way” Connor replies. Hank moves closer and he turns to face him. The lines in Hank’s face write a story, one Connor is yet unable to read.

“Why do you think he’s doing this? If he were only out for revenge on Richardson, why would attack an android leader of Jericho? It doesn’t add up.” Connor has no idea; or more accurately, he has too many. Possibilities swarm his mind, threatening to overwhelm him. 

“Maybe it’s not up to him” Hank offers. Connor nods. He’s thought of that; assassins and hitmen were not uncommon, and it would explain the randomness of targets.

“Then we need to find who’s hiring him. Considering the wide difference in targets so far, he’s probably been hired by multiple different people.” Hank doesn’t nod, but Connor can see he’s listening. Hank shoves his hands into his pockets and looks to him. Connor keeps going.

“We can assume he doesn’t have particularly strong moral or political leanings, though he appears to be an android. It may have something to do with whoever held ownership of him before the revolution.”

“You think anyone owned him before the revolution?” Hank raises an eyebrow. Connor frowns.

“What do you mean?”

“You said it yourself: he’s got biocomponents no one’s ever seen before. What if he was a specialized model?”

Connor hadn’t thought of that. “You mean like Markus?”

“Yeah.” Hank shrugs. “I mean, it sounds like a crazy conspiracy, but what with everything else Cyberlife’s done, why not this?”

Connor leans forward. “You believe Cyberlife is behind this?” He’s curious now; Hank has a theory, one he hadn’t even thought of. Hank’s a renowned detective. Connor’s learned some things are almost just intuition.

“I mean, Richardson was CEO before he retired, right? Why would he retire then? He was at the top of the food chain. Maybe there was a reason he left. And the reason for that android-“ “Simon” Connor interrupts. Hank glares at him, but it’s relatively mild. “And the reason for Simon is obvious. Cyberlife didn’t exactly do so well after the revolution.”

They certainly hadn’t. Many called for the dissolution of the company, both androids and humans, but Cyberlife had continued on, now a service and biocomponent provider. Still a monopoly in the market. They’ve persevered, Connor thinks, like a cockroach in the wintertime. Like pestilence.

Maybe Connor is a little bitter.

“So if Cyberlife is behind this, how do we get proof?” Connor asks. Hank snorts and gives him a look from under his brows.

“We do what we do best: Investigate.”

 

-

 

There is a hand in front of his face. Not a threat. Not yet.

“Won’t even respond. And you said this thing was human?” The man, Carlos Hammond, turns to the other two men in the room briefly and looks back to Zero. “Fuckin’ creepy.”

“Watch it” one of the others barks. Maxwell “Axe” Davids. The armed man from Jade’s lab. Leader of Canaan.

Hammond snorts. “What’s the big deal? Piece of shit’s defective. Couldn’t even kill a maid android.”

Davids glares at him from his place by the wall. Behind him is a large digital board, various images and pieces of text littering the screen. A woman, who Zero logs as Daniela Robles, is perched on the table best to him, reading a tablet. Hammond continues.

“We don’t know anything about him. He killed one senior citizen, big deal! He’s probably not even that dangerous.” 

There’s a knife in his face now. Zero registers the threat and calculates the most effective way to disarm and neutralize him. His eyes follow the blade as it sways slightly. Davids starts to stand up.

“Put that away, dumbass! That Jade lady said he had some sort of self-preservation protocol. We don’t know what’ll set him off-“

“That scientist bitch also said he’d get the job done! Show me some results, man, because right now all I’m seeing is our money going-“ The tip of the blade touches the ribbed synthetic plastic of Zero’s mask. Zero moves.

The knife hits the ground and with a metallic clatter next to Hammond, who’s now crumpled to his knees, gasping.

“Shit! What th- what the fuck, man! He-“ Hammond cut himself off with a choking noise and sucks in air.

Zero stands at attention like he’d been doing before. Across the room, Davids laughs quietly and Robles laughs louder.

“That’s karma, bitch!” she calls, teeth white under her blue lipstick.

Hammond pulls a face at her, ugly and angry, yellow teeth bared. He looks back to Zero with the same face, but now there’s something like fear in his eyes.

Zero stares back, eyes empty and bright, bright green.

 

-

 

North wants to scream. It’s not uncommon feeling, but it’s insistent and red hot in her chest. She keeps her fists clenched and pretends it’s enough.

Simon looks so frail in bed, she would almost say he looks like he’s aged except they’re androids and they don’t age and the way Simon looks shouldn’t even really be possible. 

 

He isn’t getting better.

The thought struck her the morning after the attack and it’s been following her ever since, like a hungry dog. He isn’t recovering. 

It makes her irrationally angry. The trauma had shook him to the core, she knows, but they had fought a revolution and won. This really couldn’t have been worse.

A small voice in her mind reminds her of her own traumas, the ones that follow her not like dogs but wolves, with sharp teeth and howling that echoes only in her head. The ones that make her shy away from hugs and hands and humans, the ones that keep her on edge and clench her fists and make her want to scream. Trauma is not a competition, and it is not fair.

Stupidly, she finds herself wanting to apologize to Simon for words she’d never even said to him. She ignores the urge and seeks out Markus.

 

She finds Josh instead.

“How’re you holding up?” Josh’s voice is soft. As if she’d been the one attacked yesterday morning.

She repeats the sentiment aloud to Josh. He lets out a little laugh and offers her a seat next to him. She doesn’t want to sit, emotions tumultuous inside her. She does anyway.

They don’t say anything for a while. North thinks about Simon and about herself, thinks about trauma and being angry and Josh. He was just as angry as her during the revolution, she realizes. It was just a different kind. Less fiery and explosive and more like the sea, relentless and patient. Her anger needed his, or she’d burn herself and everything down to ash.

 

“Simon’s gonna be okay.” Josh says it with such conviction North almost believes it.

 

-

 

Kamski isn’t in the pool this time. He’s in jeans and the same black robe, open and baring his pale chest. He sits in a black chair by the pool. The windows yawn over him.

“I’ve heard about the Richardson murder, and the attack on Jericho. An interesting dilemma for you, isn’t it?” Kamski’s eyes glitter with the reflected pool water light. Connor fights the strange urge to run.

“We were wondering if you could help us, Mr. Kamski.” He shows him the footage of the murder. Kamski’s face is impassive.

“This isn’t any of my work. Those components are ones I never designed, or if I did they’ve been modified until they’re unrecognizable.”

He turns to Connor, eyes cold and bright. 

“I can’t help you.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> i’m gonna be real with all of you: i’m not much into dbh anymore. i will bring this story to a conclusion though, because i can’t stand the idea of not finishing something. but due to lacking motivation i want to warn of slower updates. i’m so sorry and thank you to everyone who’s been loving this story so far, i really appreciate it!! i won’t leave this story unfinished unless there’s absolutely nothing else i can do!

**Author's Note:**

> this idea has been following me around for a while and i finally wrote the beginning of it!! i’m a slow and busy writer so i apologize in advance for the lack of update schedule!! hope u liked it so far


End file.
